


Warm leatherette

by BBMarcello



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Consensual Everything, Leather Kink, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Oh dear god there's more photos!, SAG awards, Sundance Instagram tmi, Timothee in eyeliner always, Vanity Fair pants, excessive research on the Sunset Tower Hotel penthouse suite layout, throat kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-19 11:28:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17600474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBMarcello/pseuds/BBMarcello
Summary: Social media has consequences.





	Warm leatherette

**Author's Note:**

> Warm Leatherette by The Normal (classic tune: https://youtu.be/KFPpJGijXPI) has been in my head since seeing those Vanity Fair pics. Then the SAG Awards happened and I just couldn't help myself - here's a bit of leather, mmm, leather.

“Kneel.” That voice beckoned to me across the room as I shut the door behind me.

Shit, he wasn’t playing around tonight. I knew punishment was in order, that goddamn Instagram story in bed, Liz and her phone. I knew I’d need to explain myself, she’d got into the bed, unfucking invited, squeezed my arm with those fucking nails of hers and insisted on another set-up story, jesus. I’d tried to make it as natural as possible, tore my shirt off, tried to sound relaxed, just a normal, everyday post, just the happily married couple sharing a moment, such bullshit. I couldn’t wait for the next two months to be over then I could freely walk away, balls intact.

I’d walked in to Tim’s penthouse suite, not expecting him back from the SAGs for hours, figured I could grab a quick shower, maybe even a soak in that big tub, wash the airplane off me and the doldrums that had gathered around me as I’d sat in Griffith Park, watching the sun go down. What I wasn’t expecting was all the lights turned off, except the side table light by the couches. One shadowy figure on the couch, light bouncing off his side. He looked fucking magnificent. As always recently, he’d been killing the awards red carpets with his style choices, killing the fans, and me, more. Now, he was sitting back, a swathe of shadowed black and skin against the beige cushions. He sounded really, really pissed.

“Don’t make me say it twice.”

Fuck. I dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, moved towards him and planted myself on my knees in front of him, studied the floor and, okay, nice boots and fuck, holyjesus, he was wearing those leather pants from the Vanity Fair shoot, must’ve sneaked them off the set. Did he wear those to the awards? Christ, everyone must’ve been gagging for him. I took my eyes off the rug, realizing in an instant he must’ve moved the rug in here to save my knees from the wooden tile floor. So, pissed at me but still considerate. Daring to glance up, instantly dead. Those tight, very tight leather pants, a black polka dot shirt unbuttoned and that sweet, soft treasure trail down to his-

“Armie, eyes on the goddamn floor, you know your place!”

I shook my head, looked down again, shiny, shiny boots. He moved his left foot off the floor, tapped lightly against my now severely restricted hard-on in my jeans.

“Do you think you deserve that with what you did?”

I shook my head again, “no, Timothée, I do not.” I knew he was smiling at me. We’d agreed long ago, Timothée and Armand, depending on who was subbing for who. He knew I hated Sir, reminded me too much of my asshole of a Dad. This wasn’t punishment, this was love.

He pushed his boot against my cock, just enough to hurt, then dropped his foot again.

“What do you think I should do with you, Armie?”

Fuck, I didn’t know, just anything, anything that got me off my knees and closer to him. He looked so good and I hadn’t even seen his face fully yet. All that leather, all that skin.

“Please, Timothée, can I touch you? The leather?”

He chuckled, “fuck no, clasp your hands behind your back, look at me, Armie.”

I did what he said and looked up. That fucker, he’d obviously been running his hands through his hair, his curls were nearly all grown back now and they were everywhere, that one curl, my favourite, back where it belonged. Fuck any more historical films, they can stick him in a wig. I didn’t think he’d have worn eyeliner to the SAGs but he certainly was hella wearing it now, clear green eyes smudged in dark gray. Eyes that were now burning into mine. This could either be really, really good or it could seriously hurt.

He lifted his left foot up, rested it against his right knee. The leather stretched and creaked, jesus, that calf of his in leather wasn’t much of an easier sight than his crotch.

“I had a really shit time tonight, Armie. Do you know why?”

“You didn’t win?” Fuck, I’d kept away from my phone, didn’t know.

His hand shot forward on to my throat, held tight. Oh god, was that a ring?

“You’re not a stupid man, Armie, you know all that doesn’t mean shit to me. Now,” he squeezed his fingers that little bit tighter, “try again.” As his hand left my throat, I took a deep breath, tried to ignore my ever tightening jeans.

“That story on Instagram, Liz put it –“

He stood up, stepped past me, glasses clinked. Crap, he was pouring himself a scotch from the bar. He so rarely drank.

“I don’t need to hear her name. It belittles you to even breathe it. But yes, that story, that fucking story.”

I heard the bottle being put down again but he didn’t move back to the couch, instead the hairs on the back of my neck stood up as I felt him standing just behind me, another use for that rug, quiet steps. I heard him take a sip from his glass and a finger appeared in front of me, it _was_ a ring, a gorgeous twiddle ring, perfect for my little bunny. Well, not so jumpy today.

“Suck.”

I opened my mouth and sucked his scotch drenched finger, closed my eyes, kept sucking long after the amber smoky taste was gone. He pulled his finger away from me and moved back to the couch, sat down, spread those long, long legs of his.

“Keep your hands behind your back, lean forward.”

I did as he asked, tried to keep my balance, thighs shaking, knees just starting to hurt. He grabbed my hair and pulled me in against his crotch.

“Lick.”

Thank you lord and all your angels, thank you so much. I shut my eyes and licked against the leather, feeling the softness of it against my mouth, the hardness of his cock as I licked down to the left. He lifted his butt up for a second, undid the zip an inch, pulled the head of his cock out, the rest straining under the leather.

“I want you to suck me, Armie, lick these pants, get ‘em good and wet, lick my balls, feel all of me against the material, get ‘em wet.” He pulled on my hair so he could look at me. “This is your punishment, Armie, no hands, make me come.” He forced my head back down and I got back to it. Punishments were always love.


End file.
